Disclaimer: Do ya really think I own ANYTHING if I'm writing something like this?

Soft Rains

The Hokage of Hidden Leaf could not help, in the quiet hours of the night, but marvel at the suddenness of the monster's attack. It was barely a few months since the negotiation of the peace treaty with Hidden Stone was completed when the first reports started trickling in: agitation in the wildlife, soon spreading to the domesticated animals; a feeling of unrest amongst the people; loss of contact from the remote outposts. Then there was nothing for several days.

Arashi knew now that it was merely the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge.

Then the Kyuubi had struck. The Shield Wall had crumbled within moments of the initial onslaught. A third of the population moments after that. Then the demon had stopped, leaving the survivors to pick up the pieces. The next day had descended into chaos. Through the course of that day and the next the villagers slowly pieced the parts together, and paranoia infected the entire city. There was no sign of the beast the entire time. People began to relax.

That night the Kyuubi came again. However, while the villagers had calmed down, Arashi had prepared. The demon met the might of the Konoha Corps—and decimated half of them.

The casualties would have been higher, if it wasn't for the actions of Arashi's brother. He almost single- handedly beat off the demon and inflicted more damage than the rest of the Corps combined. He brought another breather for Konoha at a high price: he died the next day, leaving a wife without a husband and newborn boy without a father.

The mother had died the next day, leaving the child in Arashi's care. His sister- in- law had only begged him that he do everything in his power to avenge her husband's death.

The Council had remained on his case the entire period of time between the second and third attacks, demanding why he didn't have more troops ready, why he wasn't more prepared. They had a whole litany against him. Naturally they had said nothing when he had prepared. They were merely a group of armchair generals looking for a scapegoat to appease their own consciences. Arashi had never hated them more.

But they had given him an idea. There was talk in one of the Old Legends of a man that willingly took on an immense burden to save his people. Arashi knew there was more to it than that, but he couldn't remember it. The key point was that Arashi might have been able to emulate him.

But the research he did into the subject was not in the least bit positive. He had planned to bind the demon's soul and its chakra to his own, and take it to the grave. The only problem was that the Kyuubi could escape rather easily from that prison and return to finish wreaking havoc on Konoha. It would have to be something more permanent.

He then considered sealing the monster into an object, a sword or something. But— assuming that the object could hold the Kyuubi's presence— that option would leave its power available for anyone to use.

After that he considered using an animal, but discarded it immediately. The demon would overwhelm the base consciousness of the creature and give it another vehicle to slaughter Konoha citizens.

That left him with his nephew in his arms and his sister- in- law's grief-maddened plea ringing in his ears. And that same decision had led him out here, all alone on the battlefield, unnoticed by neither his troops nor the rampaging monstrosity just above him, carrying his only living relative in his arms.

The Yondaime Hokage shifted the child in his arms, freeing up his hands, and began performing the ritual. As his hands flashed through seal after seal, the blonde glanced around him. This was the last time he would ever lay eyes upon his village.

Arashi took in the sight of a broken Konoha, some of the buildings still glowing from the raw energy contained in each swipe of the demon's claws. The blonde's eyes flickered upward towards the fox- demon momentarily. The Kyuubi was either unaware of the Hokage's presence, or indifferent. Either way, the tailed demon's careless arrogance would be its undoing.

He let a satisfied smile form on his face as he finished the ritual and felt a terrible presence behind him.

The darkness was coming. The man could feel it in his bones. He started sprinting. His time was growing short.

In his arms was a bundle of rags and cloth. It squirmed and shifted occasionally, but never for long. The man glanced down at the bundle occasionally. Each time he did so he seemed to gain a new purpose, a drive he had lost moments before.

The man stopped, gasping for breath. He was standing in the middle of a grove of trees, each one covered with over a thousand branches. His eyes clenched shut as waves of pain wracked his frame. Not for the first time, he cursed the one who did this to him.

He was a young man at the time, foolish and certain of his invulnerability. He had wandered deep into the abandoned city near his home village. The elders had constantly warned against entering the place, claiming that evil spirits inhabited the ruins. Naturally he and his friends had scoffed at the warnings, and shrugged off the consistent disappearances by laying the blame squarely on the incompetence of those who had already gone.

But when they arrived at the hollow shell of a once- great civilization, they could think of nothing else. Every shadow contained a wraith, and every doorway hid a skulking monstrosity. No one was willing to enter the city proper, but none had the presence of mind to leave. They hung in limbo on the threshold, survival warring with the deep-seated urge of young men to prove themselves. Neither one gained a foothold—until one of the older members of his gang had dared him to cross.

He regretted no other decision more than this.

He had wandered deep into the heart of the city, prepared to flee at the slightest noise. He found absolutely nothing. Slowly the fear had begun to ebb. Perhaps whatever creatures that had lived here had left long ago.

He had almost convinced himself of this when he found them. Demons straight from hell, with white-less coal-black eyes, grey corpse-like skin, long claws and a deep love for blood and bloodshed. They had seized him and dragged him to Her, deep in the depths of her underground grotto. She was their leader, and while he could feel unnaturalness oozing from her, she seemed perfectly normal. She had ordered him into a cell with a multitude of others.

She would come with her demon guards, and would have them seize several of the prisoners. None of them returned. Soon he was the only one in the cell. Finally it was his turn.

They dragged him from his cell into another room, with long transparent tubes filled with darkness and a single gurney. They had strapped him down, and stuck needles into him. As they connected the needles to the large tubes, he heard Her mutter that now they would see if he was better than the rest. Then the darkness flowed into him and he knew no more.

An owl screeched behind him and he jerked from his resting place, stumbling over roots and brambles. Pain surged through his chest. He staggered to a halt, leaned over and was sick all over a bush. He wiped his mouth with his free hand and saw blood glistening on his sleeve. He glanced at the bush and saw more coppery red tones on its leaves. His time was growing very short.

The man started running again, faster than before. He held the bundle close to himself, shielding it from the whipping branches and biting cold. He glanced down at the bundle and saw the cherubic face of his only daughter.

When he had awoken from the experiment- induced unconsciousness, he found himself in the forest near his village. He thought for a second that he had dreamed the whole event. Then he found the marks where he had been seized, where they had injected him. He had wandered into the village to find them mourning half the villagers. From what he learned one of the demons had snuck into the village the night before and destroyed it.

He was accepted without a word back into the village. The elders had assumed that he escaped the demons' clutches and gave him space, thinking that he would tell what happened when he was ready. He soon took a bride and tried to rebuild his life.

But there were problems. He had bought a farm and tended it to the best of his abilities. But, every so often, he would find himself waking in the woods without a single memory of what had happened the night before. He soon learned that the demon would have been sighted on those nights.

A fear began festering in his mind. What if, somehow, he was the demon? That fear was confirmed when he realized that there was another consciousness within his that wanted out. The next night, his wife gave birth and he felt the darkness, the demon consciousness, within his daughter as well. His wife died an hour later, driving him over the edge. He had taken his child and fled.

His fevered mind had run through possibilities. He couldn't merely cut himself—loss of blood never stopped a demon. Nor would burning. They were demons after all. He would have to finish himself decisively, and bring his daughter along as well. Then he decided on jumping, and began running for the nearest cliff.

Now his feet led him through a winding path in the underbrush. The man smiled for the first time in years. The cliff was close.

The darkness was closer. With one titanic surge the bestial consciousness crashed through his barriers. His body convulsed and the bundle slipped from his arms, landing in a cradle of branches. The man, now unconscious of his actions, stumbled forward.

He knew he was losing the battle. The demon was reaching through him, seizing control of his limbs. Tears ran down his face as he realized he was not able to rid the world of the demon he had become. Then he felt, rather than saw, the lip of the canyon behind him. With one final act of will, he jumped.

As his body fell towards the bone-shattering impact on the rocks below, he could only feel bliss. It would all be over soon. Then the darkness surged and obliterated all traces of him within his own mind. The shadows claimed his body.

The child slept on fitfully in the tree, waiting for a sound of crunching bones that never came.

Arashi dragged himself forward another step. Almost there. He was in the hospital as the rest of the village rejoiced. His plan had worked. The Kyuubi's dead carcass lay sprawled across the center of the city and the population was currently dancing on top of it.

He let out a small sigh as he looked down at his nephew, squirming slightly in his arms. Part of Arashi wanted to declare to the world that it was this child that had bought it safety. But that temptation was reined in by the knowledge of how the villagers would treat him.

He had realized, early in the planning stage of this audacious maneuver that the village would not accept him as a savior. After the second attack, the villagers realized that the demon was dangerously sentient and was, in fact, toying with them. They began suspecting the refugees who entered the village several days before the first attack. They claimed that they were spies for the Kyuubi, to tell it whether or not they were weak. It took the combined effort of Arashi and his predecessor, Sarutobi, to convince them otherwise. Even then, it took a heavy emphasis on what the refugees had lost to the demon.

He could only imagine what they would do to his nephew, who would have neither defense. Arashi himself would be dead soon, leaving Sarutobi on his own to attempt to defend the boy. And, even though Arashi's nephew had lost both parents, the villagers would argue that the boy never knew them and thus never would truly understand what he had lost. The boy would be incredibly lucky if he survived the night, let alone a year.

So here he was, the Hokage of Hidden Leaf, skulking about the hospital while on his deathbed and with his people celebrating not two hundred yards away. He broke away from his morbid thoughts as he reached his destination: the pediatric ward of the hospital. Arashi slipped in silently and moved stealthily through the rows of cribs. He took extra pains to ensure that he left no sign that he was here. He knew it was overkill, but it was better than being sloppy and leading a trail straight to his nephew.

He slipped inside a secondary door and entered the newborn section of the ward. There was a single open crib. Arashi snuck up to the waiting crib and placed the infant inside, replacing him in the crib Arashi had removed him from scant hours ago. Arashi was glad he had placed the child inside a moment later as a wave of vertigo washed over him and he stumbled to his knees.

The air seemed to grow cold around him. Arashi saw his breath emerging in steamy puffs. Then he felt it—the terrible presence of Death. His stomach dropped. NO! Not yet! I'm not ready! He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Shinigami floating just behind him.

"Wait." He croaked, staggering to his feet. "Give me a moment to set my affairs in order, and then you can do whatever you want to me. Just wait a moment, please." The avatar observed him silently, and then jerked its spiky- haired head towards the celebrating masses outside. It took Arashi a moment to realize what the Shinigami meant. When he did, he shook his head vigorously and then wished he hadn't as the room spun momentarily.

When he had regained his balance, Arashi explained. "No! I'm the only one who can do this. I don't—I can't trust anyone else with this. I have to do this." The Shinigami observed him for a few seconds more, and then nodded in assent. Arashi felt relief flood through him.

He turned back to the crib, withdrawing a bottle of ink and a brush, and began applying the seal to the babe. Beads of sweat began forming on his brow as he added parts the seal, fortifying this, weakening that, all the while fighting off the consequences of the jutsu he had used to chain the Kyuubi to his nephew.

He had bargained with the Shinigami to offer up his soul as a form of payment for the avatar's services. And now it wanted its pay.

The room swirled again and Arashi pulled the brush from the infant's stomach, trying to steady himself. He hissed back to the Shinigami, which was still hovering over his shoulder: "I'm almost finished. Please, wait!" The nausea receded slightly. Arashi looked back at the seal—there was no damage from Arashi's dizzy spell. He continued with the sealing, adding the finishing touches.

He stood up, finished, and made to fiddle with the headband that was proudly wrapped around his forehead, only to find it missing. He remembered it falling off his head as the demon's soul was dragged inside the boy. Turning his mind from that, Arashi bent down to look at the name inscribed on the paper taped to the crib and shook his head. It would be too risky if they knew the child's true name.

Taking the brush, the Yondaime began writing again. A few moments passed and then he was finished: Uzumaki Naruto.

Arashi smiled slightly and stood. He turned and stared the Shinigami in the eye, resignation clear on his face. He whispered his final three words: "I'm ready now." The Shinigami nodded again, this time looking pleased, and gently seized Arashi.

A slight glow emanated from the Yondaime's body, growing brighter every moment. Then the blonde jerked, spasming as a new wave of pain overcame him. Sigils began appearing across his entire body, his clothes, everything—even his hair. More and more symbols inked themselves across his skin until his entire body was coated with them. The air shifted and Arashi was gone.

The newborn boy, Naruto, began to cry.

Kenchi was scared out of his mind. Here he was, just robbing a few gypsies, not hurting anybody—and then these huge muscle-bound oafs come lunging out of nowhere and start chasing him through this huge-ass forest! He hadn't done anything wrong; he just took this one little ruby.

Okay, sure the little ruby was extremely heavily guarded, but still! This was ridiculous!

A crash alerted Kenchi of an oncoming gypsy bouncer. He whirled and changed direction, making sure to run far away from the big loud sounds of the very strong gypsy men. His wiry frame hurled over roots, through brambles and under low- lying branches. He ran faster than he ever had before; but the gypsies were still gaining on him.

Getting an idea, Kenchi suddenly leapt to the left and snagged one of the thicker branches. He used that to climb into the lush tree. That action unknowingly saved him from a very long fall. As he hung there several of the gypsy men ran by underneath the tree. He couldn't see them from behind the foliage and couldn't risk moving it in case they saw the movement. So he had to settle for sounds.

There was a yell and a scuffle soon after they passed his tree. Kenchi sincerely hoped his current pursuers had collided with another group of hunting gypsies. Then he heard panicked yells. There were shouts, commands, none of which Kenchi understood in the slightest. All that he could infer from them was a sense of urgency.

There were footsteps coming towards him, and he pulled himself closer to the trunk of the tree. The footsteps halted right under the tree he was hiding in. Their voices drifted up the tree, muffled by the leaves.

"...amn lucky he survived. Took all our men just to haul him up."

"So there's no sign of the thief?"

"No, sir. My guess is that he fell off the cliff." Kenchi barely suppressed a sigh of relief. They thought he was dead! There must have been some sort of cliff just ahead. He pulled himself out of his daydreams as the other man began speaking.

"Grandmere will not be pleased."

"I know. The best we can do is comb the river in the morning." The voices faded as they left the area where Kenchi was hiding. A smile formed on his lips. This makes things so much easier. He pushed away from the trunk that he had embraced moments before, and turned away from the where the sound was emanating.

And nearly screamed.

Hovering directly in front of him was a ghost. It was a woman, ethereal and pale, who hovered a good twelve feet above the ground. But in Kenchi's opinion, the most frightening thing about her was her eyes. They were filled with accusation, hatred, and rage. His knees buckled, and he nearly fell out of the tree.

Catching himself, the thief closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He was obviously delusional if he was seeing ghosts. Maybe the gypsies had cast some spell on him as he was making his get-away. They were known for doing things like that, after all. Probably some sort of spell to make him see all sorts of paranormal stuff, make him feel guilty, and all that junk.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The gypsies were pretty desperate to get it back. So it must be very important to them. Thus they would put all sorts of defenses on the gem. Of course. It made perfect sense. Kenchi took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

The ghost had not moved an inch. Kenchi smiled again. He was right. The image was just an illusion. Had it truly been a guardian of the stolen ruby, it would have done something. So there was absolutely nothing to fear. To further prove his suspicions correct, Kenchi proceeded to flip off the spectral image.

Nothing. He stifled a laugh, barely remembering in time that while the image was fake, he was still surrounded by crazy gypsies armed to the teeth. He resorted to grinning triumphantly at the haunted visage. He jerked slightly as the visage leaned forward as if to greet him. Recovering he looked over the image again. Once again there was nothing. Kenchi cursed himself distractedly as he realized that the gypsies would have some way to fool the less superstitious that the specter was real.

He pulled himself back to the trunk of the tree as he heard someone else approaching. The footsteps paused underneath his branch. Kenchi froze, his heart pounding. The footsteps shuffled slightly, as if whoever it was was trying to hear something. Kenchi's heart was beating painfully loudly, and he wondered for a moment if the person below him could hear it.

The footsteps slowly departed, and Kenchi allowed himself a soft sigh of relief. He leaned out, trying to see if he could spot the searcher. Instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of vertigo. Not twenty feet away from him was a canyon of immense size. It was also right in front of the path Kenchi was taking before he had leapt into the tree.

I would have fallen in there…

A wave of fear, quickly followed by elation passed through him. He survived…Kenchi barely managed to contain a whoop of joy. A flicker of movement caught his eye. Turning he saw the ghost inches away from him, gnashing her teeth. The euphoria of his close escape overcame his reason, and he puckered his lips and closed his eyes, leaning in to kiss the ghastly specter. He never saw the dark awareness appear in the image's eyes, nor did he see it draw back its arm, nor did he see the long claw-like nails extending from its fingers.

However, he did hear a soft whistling noise and he felt something cold prick against the side of his throat…

There was a loud crash as the bandit's body fell from the tree. It lay there as the forest stilled momentarily. Then, like a bee-hive that has just been struck, the forest began to stir. Soon men of all ages thundered up to the tree and the bandit's body. They circled around him like vultures around a half-dead animal, eager to pounce upon their prey but hesitating in fear of reprisal. Murmurs began between them, consulting, until a cry soared up:

"Grandmere!" The group split in half. An old woman walked through the newly-made tunnel. Her prime years had long since fled her, yet she was moving faster than many people less than half her age. Her cold grey eyes flickered with a smoldering rage, her wrinkled mouth pressed into a thin line, and her veined hands were clenched tightly.

She strode over to the thief without a word. When she went to bend down and search the body, several voices cried out against it.

"Grandmere!" The closest man spoke. "Please, we do not know how he died. Could you at least wait and let us determine if there is anything dangerous to you, first?" She stopped in mid-crouch and looked at them with hooded eyes.

"Fools." She scolded softly. "Can't you see that I did this?" Gasps of shock ran through the younger men, while the older looked on with belated remembrance. The man who had called out flushed and averted his eyes in embarrassment. The woman, Grandmere, shook her head quietly and mumbled something that sounded like "hot-blooded fools."

A moment later Grandmere straightened. A blood red ruby was in her hand. Smiles and sighs of relief ran through the crowd. She stepped away and started to walk back the way she came. However, she froze when she reached the boughs of the tree the thief was hiding in. She looked at it, curious. Then her eyes widened and she reached in.

A moment later she withdrew her arms, holding an infant. A startled gasp ran through the entire group, old and young alike. Grandmere paid them no heed. Her entire focus was on the child. A quick check confirmed that the infant was a she.

The child was awake, and staring un-blinkingly at the older woman. A small dab of the thief's blood was on its forehead, looking for all the world like one of the crowns nobility wore. Hell, now that Grandmere really looked at the child, the infant even held herself like royalty.

"Grandmere?" A voice shook her out of her musings. She glanced up and saw that the nearest man was addressing her, looking for all the world like he wanted to run far, far away. Grandmere frowned unconsciously.

Her temper wasn't that bad. Usually.

"Uhh…we were wondering what you were planning on doing with the child?" The matriarch of the gypsy troupe looked back down at the infant girl.

"What else? I'm going to raise her as my heir." None of the group knew what to say. The Grandmere's entire family had been claimed by a disease recently. On one hand, they didn't have to worry about a power-struggle when Grandmere passed on. On the other hand, they were highly uncomfortable with the thought that their darkest secrets would be entrusted with an outsider. But again the matriarch paid them no heed. "You'll need a name, little one."

Grandmere absent-mindedly wiped the blood off the child's forehead. Rubbing the red substance between her fingers, she was struck by inspiration. Looking once more at the child, she whispered, "Benihime."

The child's stoic mask, which had been maintained the entire time, finally cracked into a full-blown smile. "Benihime it is, then."